Hug A Tree
by WondaKat
Summary: Holmes has been gone for hours now and is starting to worry Watson. It's only when Watson is taking Gladstone for a night walk does he find Holmes. In Regents Park. Stuck up a tree.


Title: Hug a tree

Summary: (LJ) Holmes has been gone for hours now and is starting to worry Watson. It's only when Watson is taking Gladstone for a night walk does he find Holmes. In Regents Park…. Stuck up a tree.

Rated: T

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Fluff, kissy kissy

A/N another prompt, I was going to do it in the BBC verse but I thought the movie verse would be funny to do this in :) Prompts like these make me laugh and giggle.

Original Prompt: Holmes or Sherlock gets stuck in a tree (simple right?).

* * *

The light drizzle of rain had stopped only a few minutes ago. The cloudy sky was slowly clearing up and the sun was peeking through the clouds. Just over the tall roof tops of the Baker Street houses, a rainbow was bright in the dark of the sky and it made Watson smile when he peered out of the window, near were he was sitting in his chair.

The drizzle of rain had been going on for at least 2 hours. Watson knew that, he could here the light sounds of pitter patter on the outside window sill. It was loud and clear too because of the window being slightly ajar to let in some air into the polluted living room that he and his room mate share.

Watson laid down his paper, the _Times_, on his lap and looked around the room, looking at the state it currently is in. At least everything had a thin layer of dust on it, the carpet covered in various chemicals from his flat mate's experiments and other stuff.

Shit, is what Watson would actually call it, and it is really all shit. But if he even said it in front of Holmes, he could be lectured about how his work and experiments are not 'shit' but rather of great importance. John would leave it at that. When Homes had an answer back, he normally did, he was expected to have nothing to say, speechless. But he did, nearly all the time. And every time he answered back, he finds himself in an empty bed at night, no Homes next to him to keep it nice and warm from night till sunrise.

Holmes is really a spoiled child; he can't always get his way. And it leaves Watson sometimes cold at night.

But Holmes isn't here right at the moment; he's some where doing a case set to him by Inspector Hopkins. So Watson can call Holmes his stuff shit for all he cared and wouldn't give a great big damn at it.

Now that's was a thought. Where is Holmes exactly? He's been gone for the past 2 hours now, the same length of time it had been raining.

Oh god, hope he wasn't walking around in the rain and had some common sense to find shelter to keep dry. Watson really doesn't want to deal with a moaning, sneezing, coughing pest of a detective. Holmes without a cold is bad enough. Mm, well, some times Holmes being ill has its advances. It meant he could be in control of what the man did, either if it's eating, resting or doing his experiments. Even better is when he can't play that bloody violin at 3 in the morning like he usually does.

Watson looked out of the window again and glanced down at the people down on the dusty street. His eyes scanned the crowds, in hope to see that familiar crop of black messy hair and the oh so noticeable neckerchief he has around his pale neck.

Nothing, no sign of his friend. All the could see was couples holding hands, lonely men and woman without company, bobbies on the beat and who looked to be Mrs Hudson buying a slightly soggy newspaper from the paper boy in front of the house.

Watson sighed and closed the window now; it was getting a little chilly in the room. Also, the room now longer smelt strongly of highly chemical gases, only just a whisper of the scent was mingled with the January air. I felt like a normally, smelly room now. Though, he's sure it won't last that long. As soon Holmes walks through that door, experiments will happen and that January air will disappear when the chemicals will burn on the bunson.

Thinking about Holmes, Watson's head twisted and his eyes went straight to the door where right at that moment Mrs Hudson was coming in with what looked to be afternoon tea on a tray and the soggy paper resting on a tea towel. Hudson smiled at the man and smiled back.

"I haven't seen you in the past 2 hours, Doctor," she said, walking over to the table in front of Watson, which currently has a pile of letters addressed to Homes on it. Holmes wasn't here, so Watson just shoved them off the table and onto the floor into a messier pile.

"There's nothing much to do when one is cooped up inside the house when it is raining outside," Watson answered back at the landlady bearing tea for him. "Everyone has some common sense and stayed in, reason why I haven't had any patients queuing outside the door."

The tea was set and the strong aroma of black tea was strong, filling the room and finally getting rid of that horrible chemical smell. Watson closed the news paper and folded it in half and handed it to Mrs Hudson, who accepted it with a smile.

"That's the _Evening Standard_ there for you, Doctor," Hudson pointed at the damp paper drying on the tea towel. "It will have the latest of the Whitechapel murders in there, I do believe. Should keep Mr Holmes happy for the rest of the evening I do believe."

"I'm sure it will Mrs Hudson, it has for the past 2 months. There is always hope, don't lose it."

Although the killings of Jack the ripper was all the way out in Whitechapel, it hadn't stopped Holmes looking into it through the news papers and taking a once a week trip to Whitechapel. Serial killers, they are his favorite and right now, Jack the ripper is his slightly new obsession, even though he isn't allowed to get involved.

Which he agreed to and it shocked Watson to hear such words as 'I respect your wishes and will reframe myself from investigating the ripper murders.' But then there was the reason. Holmes had been lately bombarded by some many cases by clients actually worthy of his time, the latest being of the Musgrave Ritual.

The newest case, which Holmes is on right now, was handed to him by Stanley Hopkins, Inspector. Some thing about a local married couple being killed in their home. Nothing was taken after the murder but objects were felt by the killer and it puzzled Scotland Yard.

This case had been going on for 3 days now. On the third day, which was now, Watson had to step down for the day, leg playing up all night. Holmes understood and promised to be back for lunch. Which he was, at 1 in the afternoon. He then took Gladstone out for his lunch time walk until a t2:45 when he came back he announced he was going out again to carry on with the case and gave the dog back to Watson. And still, as much as he wanted to, John was pulled back by the sudden strike of pain in his leg.

Now it was 4:46 and finally that throb in his leg was gone and he was willing to help his dear friend find this very unusual criminal and the whereabouts of where his drear friend is.

But first, the Evening Standard and the tea, while it's still steaming with warmth and flavor.

The tea was refreshing and it heated Watson up a little more then he already is. The paper, other then the Whitechapel murders had nothing else interesting. Though it was kind of interesting to know that the Everton football team are this years league champions. Other that's, it was rubbish.

By now, it was slightly dark in the sky; 10 minutes ago it was slightly sunny. God how he hated it when the clocks went backwards when it's autumn, just a few more weeks and then it will start to get dark at 9 O'clock in the evening.

There was a whine at his feet and it made him look down. Gladstone was sitting there looking up at his master, eyes wide. It only meant one thing, Gladstone is waiting to been taken out for his evening walkies. This was something Holmes does, not him; they had a system going on when it was time to walk Gladstone. Holmes walked the dog early in the morning and at 5 in the evening. Watson did it before lunch and at 11 O'clock at night.

But Holmes isn't here at the moment to do his 5 O'clock walk with Gladstone, so he has to do it for tonight.

Why not, his leg was feeling a lot better and it would make up for the dog walking Holmes did for him after lunch because of his blasted leg.

"Okay, just give me a moment," he said to the dog at his feet.

Watson got up of the chair and walked to the door of the room he and Holmes shared, Gladstone trailing behind him like the lost puppy that he is.

Watson reached out and got a hold on a dog leash that was attached to a brown leather collar at the end with a disk to go with, identifying who Gladstone is and who he belonged to.

Gladstone barked happily and his tail wagged with excitement.

Watson smiled and knelt down and reached out his free hand to stroke his bulldogs head and in return got his hand butted for my pleasuring pets and ear tickles. He stopped the scratches and undid the collar to slip it around his dog's neck and buckle it up again. Gladstone shook his head after the collar was fastened, making the tag jingle happily against the metal loop connecting to the leather.

Watson stood up and walked to the stand where his coat, hat and cane were. Gladstone walked up to him while he set to putting on the right outside clothes and make himself nice and warm before going out in the February cold. He bent down again to pick up the lead Gladstone dragged behind and straightened up and picked up his cane too that leaned against the wall near the stand. Shifting the cane into his elbow crock, he opened the door so he and the dog walked out. He shut the door after, shifts the cane back in his hand and start to descend the stairs with Gladstone by his side. Mrs Hudson was walking up those said stairs herself.

"Just walking Gladstone for a while, Mrs Hudson," he said as he walked past her. He did want to stop and tell her so, but Gladstone was desperate to get out and on the mucky streets and to Regents Park. "I shall no be long."

"Just be careful out on the street, Doctor. There is shifty looking character hiding in the shadows across the street."

"I shall take in to account. Thank you, Mrs Hudson for the warning."

Watson and Gladstone reached the door. He twisted the door knob and opened the door, stepping out into the cold and closing the door after him. He walked down the steps of the house and looked.

Ah, there was the apparent shifty looking character dear Mrs Hudson warned him about. He loomed in the shadows of a small little ally way between a house and the butchers. Watson looked and the character looked at him.

The lad was a young man, a teenager and looked awfully familiar.

The boy started to walk over across the road and it was then did he recognize the boy. Wiggins, one of the Baker Street irregulars, the leader.

Wiggins came closer and Watson went to him, Gladstone behind him.

"Message from the Gov, sir," Wiggins said as he bent down to stroke Gladstone like he always did when he see the dog. Gladstone woofed in bliss, rolling on his back for tummy rubs which he always got.

Watson looked down at the boy and raised an eyebrow. The Gov, he meant Holmes of course. Wiggins always called him that because he had deep respect for Holmes and Holmes is always kind to him and the rest of the irregulars.

"And what is this message he has for me?" Watson asked the teenager who gave Gladstone one final rub on his brown fur painted tummy and stood up in front of Watson.

"He is in need of your assistance, Sir."

Why didn't that surprise Watson?

"What does he acquire my assistance for?" Watson pushed the boy for a little more information.

Wiggins grinned. "He does not want me to tell you so, Sir. He is afraid that I telling you would make him feel silly."

The way Wiggins grinned and saying that being told by the boy would make Holmes fell silly, it's obvious the fool has done something rather stupid.

"I see."

"I can only tell you where he is, Sir."

"Go on then."

"He is in Regents Park, Sir. Has been there for 2 hours now."

For 2 hours. Right. That's the same amount of time that's it had been raining for. Watson was now coming to the though that Holmes is wandering around he park, soaking wet. Or had the common sense to go under a big tree to shield himself from the rain.

"Right. Thank you for your message, Wiggins. Here, for your troubles." Watson's hand went into his coat pocket and pulled out a small pile of shillings, sixpences, coppers and 2 half crowns. He picked out one for the half crowns and gave it to Wiggins. The boys face lit up when he got the money and smiled at Watson.

"Thank you Sir. Thank you so very much Sir."

He tipped his hat and then turned back and walked across the road to walk back down the dark alley. Watson watched him walked until he was outside. He watched incase anyone came out, beat the boy up and took what he just given him.

Being satisfied, Watson turned and walked down to the end of the road with Gladstone. They crossed the road to the other side and rounded the corner and crossed the street again to get to the park's entrance. They walked in and then suddenly stopped. Well, Watson did but Gladstone was get restless on his leash.

Right, how was he going to do this? Holmes could be anywhere and the park wasn't exactly a child's playground with swings and a classic roundabout. It was a huge park and still is becoming huge.

Other then the problem with Holmes, Watson came to Regents Park with a reason made: to walk his slightly overweight Bulldog. Watson bent over and unclipped the leash of the collar and Gladstone went running of at a tremendous speed, it was hard to believe if it was Gladstone at all.

The beast went out of sight but it didn't bother Watson, he knew the dog would come plodding back after using up his energy. But, while he was gone, Watson thought he might as well have a look around for his room mate.

And so he did.

He walked near the tree near the fencing of the park, keeping an eye out for Holmes' noticeable wild black hair and the familiar trench he wore.

While he walked, it was getting darker by every passing minute and soon when he was just going on the other side of the park to look, it park was black. The only light he got was a little from the street lamps on the other side of the fence. Though, the lighting could be a problem when he would want to find Gladstone or go over to the bigger section of the park. The only source of light over there was from a café in the middle of the park.

All thought of that went after he heard a low, rough barking coming from somewhere in front of him. He waited for a second, listening for different sound of barking but it never came. He was expecting that another dog and Gladstone would be the reason for the barking, that they had spotted each other and it goes down hill from there.

Gladstone barked again from the black front of the park, near some tree's that settled near the gate fencing where a street lamp shone on it. He kept on barking till Watson couldn't take it no more.

"Gladstone, do be quiet now!" he hissed, power walking to where the trees and Gladstone stood.

Gladstone bounded towards him and rent around in a circle before turning back and trotting of to the trees and then stood under them. He barked again, jumping up a little.

"You'll disturb the neighbors and people walking the streets," said Watson, now standing under the tree and bending down to clip the lead back onto Gladstone, who still was barking away to his hearts content.

"Gladstone, there is now reason for making such noise. It is only disturbing the peace."

"On the contrary my dear Watson, Gladstone's barking has proven useful at a time like this."

Watson paused for sec when straighten up to a normal stance. What did he just hear? It sounded like the voice of Holmes. Holmes voice from above that is. Gladstone had stopped barking now and sat down to see the scene unfold.

Watson turned his head. "Holmes?" he asked the air around him.

"Yes my dear fellow?" replied the voice. Yes, it was defiantly up in the air.

Watson then looked up and looked around from the man that went with the voice. Then, his eyes settled at what he saw and he had to bite his lip to stop him from laughing. Now he understood why Wiggins wouldn't tell him what sort of trouble Holmes is in. Now he knew, and it was very stupid.

Sherlock Holmes, London's genius, only consulting detective was sitting on a thin branch, up in a tree. The light from the street lamp shone through the trees leaves and rested on him so he could see the slight embarrassment on his friends face.

"Watson," Holmes said slowly. "If you were wise, you'd restrain yourself from laughing at my situation."

He had to giggle, how could he not? The situation was too funny not laugh. It only made Holmes even more frustrated.

"Watson, I'm warning you."

"I'm sorry Holmes. Truly I am, but how could I not laugh. It is too funny. This, old cock, has made the rest of my evening." Watson chuckled, wiping an invisible tear from his eyes and then looked back at his friend. "Pray tell, what are you doing up there?"

Holmes grunted and gripped the brunch he sat on a little tighter and leaned on the thick trunk to keep his balance.

"Tis my case that has brought me here this fine evening, Watson," he started his queer little tale. "I know who the murder is and I went started to pursue him. It is the Constable how brought this case before us who is the criminal before you ask. I spotted him at the far end of Baker Street and as I started to walk up to him, he started to pick up speed and run towards the opposite end of Baker Street, towards Regents Park. I went after him, but lost him as soon as I entered the park. I thought my best hope was to spot him from great height. So, I climbed the tallest tree which happened to be this. But by the time I up seeing over the tree top, he was out of sight. And thus, here I am before you Watson."

Watson grinned up at Holmes. "So, you hoped to find him from looked up from a great height. Failed to spot him and that's how it goes. So, why haven't you come down now?"

Holmes stayed silent, head twisting away to avoid his companions grinning eyes. He sniffed before talking.

"It began to rain soon after I had fail to seek the man," he said. "So I stayed up here to shield myself from Mother Nature's worst. It's only logical."

"Of course….. But that was half an hour ago. Why hadn't you come down from there soon after?"

Holmes went silent again and Watson only knew that it was Holmes' way of not showing is embarrassment. He knew exactly why his friend was not coming down form that tree.

"Yours stuck, aren't you," Watson said, finally making the point.

"Stuck? Pha! Watson, I am no mere child who is afraid of heights."

"Then come down then."

…..

….

"I like it up here, mother hen," came Holmes next excuse. "It has a nice breeze to it up here."

"Holmes, you hate the cold wind. You are always making rude horrible comments about it. Why should you find it so nice all of a sudden?"

…..

….

"Just admit it Holmes. You're stuck."

"Okay, have it your own way then." Finally. "I am stuck and I can't be able to get down."

"Which I find rather silly to me Holmes."

Holmes' face flushed with slight anger, eye glaring at Watson.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Holmes, it is truly silly. You're sitting on a branch that is only 2 feet taller then I am. You have jumped from buildings and windows and scaled walls higher then the branch. How is it you can not get down a branch only slightly taller then me?"

"Watson, just please, spare me no more humiliation and help me down."

"Okay then. Just jump off."

"Right yes, okay."

Holmes shifted on the branch and it made a sharp snapping noise and dipped violently, threatening to break. But I didn't. Holmes actually yelped and wrapped his arms about the thick tree truck, face presses quickly close that when he would remove it, bark marks would be printed on his face.

"Jesus Christ!" swore Holmes, gripping the tree with all his might. It looked like if he was going to fall, he was going to take the tree with him to hell.

"Oh for Pete's sake Homes, just jump already!" shouted Watson, now growing more impatient by the second.

The wind was picking up and it grew heavier. Watson could see Holmes shiver and his teeth chatter a bit against the cold. If they didn't hurry up right now, both will be in bed a few days later with headaches and heavy colds.

Fine, if that's the way Holmes wants it to be done, so be it.

"Holmes, just jump already. We need to get home before he we freeze to death. Mrs Hudson will not be pleased to be look after us for the next few days if we get colds."

"I can look after myself thank you very much," Holmes said down to Watson, who was now pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nanny can look after you but not me."

"JUMP ALREADY!"

"NO!"

"I'll catch you, damn it!"

"I'll get down on by myself! I do not need you."

Suddenly the branch snapped some more and it was only hanging onto the tree loosely now. The branch wasn't going to take Holmes weight any more. Either he jumps now or hangs onto the trunk for the rest of his life.

"Okay fine!" he yelped as the branch start dip dangerously low.

Finally. Watson dropped the leash that's kept Gladstone in tow and his cane fell to the ground beside him so he had a better chance at actually catching his bratty friend.

Holmes finally let go, and actually yelled when he fell forward, towards he ground. His eyes went wide when he felt arms wrap around his waist and then there was sound of an 'oof!' and then Watson fell backwards, taking Holmes with him. He landed with a hard thud on his back. It stung but he was in no dying pain, he'll just have a sore back later tonight.

He looked to find dark hair in his vision. Holmes had buried his face in the crock of Watson's neck and his arms laid limp to the side of his head. He noticed he still had his arms wrapped around Holmes waist.

Holmes lifted up his head and looked around at his surroundings and then looked down at Watson.

"You actually caught me," he said, surprise was laced in with the words.

Watson grunted a little, trying to shift to a comfortable position from under Holmes weight. "Yes," he said. "I told you would catch you, did I?"

Holmes pushed himself up using his hands and got off Watson to sit on the damp, mucky that is the parks ground and turned to face Watson again. Watson started to raise himself up on his elbows. Soon as he sat up properly on his bottom and turn to face Holmes. Holmes lent forward and planted his lips on Watson's ones.

Watson's eyes bugged but then went back to normal and kissed Holmes back. Both pair of lips were cold, no doubt from the horrid weather. Holmes's lips were beautifully soft, he had often fort of them to be dry and chapped, but once again, he was mistake about the well being of his friend's body.

Holmes finally pulled away and licked his saliva covered lips and smiled softly at Watson.

"Thank you for catching me Watson," he said.

Watson blinked but then smiled at Holmes, gloved hand reaching out stroke Holmes' stubble chin. Holmes leaned into the touch like a cat would normally do with its owner.

Watson pulled back his hand and started to rise to his feet, Holmes doing the same thing. Watson bent down for his cane and Holmes bend down and picked up Gladstone's leash. To much of Watson's relief, his dog was still waiting at his maters side. He went get the leash from Holmes but the man pulled it out of his way.

"Holmes..." he started, sighing as he did.

"What?" Holmes replied. "Watson, around about this time is when I usually walk Gladstone. Why are you complaining?"

Right, he had a point there. But then Holmes always had a point.

"Okay, fine then," he said after thinking about a come back. But then suddenly thought against it. Because if he was going to say what he wanted to, he might find himself alone in bed that.

Again.

* * *

This took ages to write, but it was fun. Enjoy xx


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